Forever
by reagancrew
Summary: A oneshot of Bering and Wells fluffiness. Sometimes you simply need to get away, to breathe the open air, to walk beneath the ancient trees of old. Sometimes you need a little perspective in order to realize that being in love really isn't the most terrifying thing in the world. Disclaimer: I don't own any aspects of B&W or Warehouse 13. What a shame.


**AN: ****It's fluffy…I think. I mean, it's got a happy ending, which, after Monday's 4x15 episode, who _doesn't _want happy B&W endings? « That was a rhetorical question, by the way. Whatever. I like them. A lot. And they should be together. And happy. Together. Hmph.**

* * *

You haven't had this much time to think in what feels like years. It's silent – the silence of a clear lake surrounded by miles of heavy forest in all directions; a silence that is full of the chirping of crickets, the gentle rustling of the leaves in a nonexistent breeze, the slow, melancholy call of a single loon, echoing across the water. It is a quiet that has never been marred by the honking of car horns, the rumble and constant noise of construction. It is the silence of peacefulness, of stillness, the silence that leaves you alone with only your thoughts for company.

You slide out of your shoes and sit down on the end of the dock, dipping your toes cautiously into the lake. Your touch breaks the pristine surface, sending ripples out in all directions, concentric circles the travel further and further until they simply fade away. It's cold and you draw back before taking a deep breath and allowing your toes to sink completely underwater. Your feet look paler beneath the cover of the water, almost like dead fish, suspended inches below the open air. But you push the image quickly from your mind, glancing up instead to watch the sun set below the tree line.

You're sitting in a giant, reflective bowl. There are two skies, two sunsets, two deep pockets of blue fading into red bleeding into orange. If it weren't for the jagged edges of the trees, so dark as to appear almost black in the fading light, it would be nearly impossible to tell where the water leaves off and the sky begins. As it is, you feel a bit off-balance, as though you're hanging upside down, dangling your feet in a sky that goes forever, as though at any moment the dock will give way and you'll go plunging down forever and ever until you pass through the atmosphere and are free to float amongst the stars. But somehow, you manage to stay seated, the roughness and splintered edges of the old wooden planks digging into your hands, still warm against your skin from the heat of the day's sun.

The dock rocks back and forth as she approaches, but you don't turn around even as she comes to a halt just behind you. You can picture her standing there, hands on her hips as she surveys the setting sun with a critical eye. You are the only two people around for miles, and suddenly, you are overwhelmed at your own insignificance. You could get lost so easily in the woods around you, swim out to the middle of the lake and let yourself just float, suspended halfway between earth and sky, simultaneously free and tethered, and no one would notice if you failed to return to the solidness of dry land.

She seems to know where your thoughts have taken you, because she sits gently down beside you, slipping her own bare feet into the clear water, a shiver making its way up her spine at the chill. There are goosebumps rising along her arms, tan from many hours spent out in the summer sun, and you feel your skin prickle in response. She hands you a glass of wine, and you accept it silently, taking a small sip before passing it back. You cannot help but watch, fascinated as she too takes a drink, her lips resting exactly where yours had been a moment before. She catches you staring and you blush, hoping she simply thinks it's the pink of the setting sun glancing off your cheeks, but you look away before you see her smile. It's become a ritual in the past week: sharing a single glass of wine as the sun falls behind the tree line and the surrounding temperature dips beneath comfortable to rest at cool. And when the sky is no longer stained with fire, but is instead a spectrum of darkest navy to royal blue, that is when one of you will speak, softly, careful so as not to shatter the stillness of the evening.

Tonight, she takes a deep breath, placing the now-empty glass off to the side, before turning in her place to face you. You do not glance away from the darkening sky, unsure what's coming and afraid to look. It's been a magical few days, full of rejuvenating sunshine and treks through the pines, late afternoon dips in the lake, finding thimbleberry bushes along the water's edge and, for every berry that you put into the bucket, popping two more into your mouth, their sweetness practically melting on your tongue. It's been a week of late mornings spent in bed, wrapped tightly around one another, not talking, simply watching the sun streaming through the windows creep across the white sheets of the bed, watching her chest rise and fall gently, counting her freckles, memorizing the curves of her body. It's been days of peace, of remembering what it is to be relaxed and free from responsibility or worry, remembering what it is to be happy. You hadn't realized that you'd somehow forgotten the feeling of joy, light and loose in your chest. In between artifact retrievals and threats to the Warehouse, the loss of fellow agents, of friends, somewhere between saving the world and trying to stay alive yourself, you'd managed to misplace the feeling of contentment, of peace. In the world of endless wonder, you'd been a bit too preoccupied with the _endless_ aspect of the job to recall the wondrous parts as well. But this week, alone with her in a tiny cabin on a lake you'd never heard of, an hour away from any major highway, has served to remind you. And you feel full, full and satisfied for the first time in months. So when she takes that deep, affirming breath, you cannot look at her, because you're afraid, afraid of the power that she has to bring all this, all this peace that you've spent all week cultivating, rediscovering, crashing to a halt around you.

"It's been a long year."

You nod. Although this is somewhat of an understatement.

"It's been a long few years," she corrects, and you nod again, smiling slightly this time that she knew exactly what you were thinking. "Yellowstone, the bomb, the brotherhood, the astrolabe," she's listing things and you're nodding along, but when she continues, "Nate and Adelaide," your heart skips several beats because you know she still feels pain at their names, even as she mentions them cavalierly, "my return to the Warehouse, Claudia," another jolt at the reminder that Claudia is no longer a resident of the B&B, no longer a fellow agent, but is now the Caretaker of Warehouse 13. "Yes," she sighs gently, and you see her head turn out of the corner of your eye to look out over the glassy water, "a long few years indeed."

"Helena," your voice is shakier than you would like it to be.

"Hmm?"

"Why did you bring me here?" You've wanted to ask this question ever since she pulled up outside the small, rustic cabin and announced that this was where the two of you would be taking your vacation, and now, on the last night, you cannot help yourself.

She takes several moments to answer, thinking carefully through her response, and you don't rush her. "I-" she stops, bumping into your arm with her own as she shifts positions, "I found this place two years ago when I was in hiding with the astrolabe. It quickly became one of my favorite places in all the world. I suppose I wanted to share it with you."

You look at her finally, studying her profile in the darkness. You may not have Steve's lie detector skills, but you know that the answer she has given is not complete. She's holding something back. She's…afraid. You are taken aback. Helena does not often show fear, even to you, even after all this time, and to see it now, in the stiffness of her spine, the set of her jaw, sets you immediately on edge.

"This is a quiet place, a peaceful place," she continues at last, putting your thoughts from the last hour into words. "And I wanted you to experience it, to experience it _with _you." She's speaking in circles. "Myka, I-"

You have never heard her sound this lost for words, this frustrated with her own voice. "I'm so happy that you brought me here," you want to help her. "Helena, it's absolutely beautiful, and it's been so nice to be away from the Warehouse." _Alone with you, _but you keep that last bit to yourself, worried about scaring her off. "Thank you for sharing it with me-"

"I love you," she says, biting off the end of your statement, bringing you up short.

You stare at her, and she is staring back at you, although you cannot make out her piercing, brown stare in the gathering night. This is not the first time she has said those three words, but it is the first time she has said them before escaping from potential mortal peril. It is the first time she has looked directly at you and told you, in no uncertain terms, unblinkingly, unbrokenly, that she feels in such a manner. You are thrown off guard, but only for a moment, "I love you, too."

"No, Myka, I _love _you," she sounds as if she's trying to convince you of something drastic, dangerous, as though its an affliction she's finally coming to terms with. You want to be annoyed at how horrid she's making it sound, but you can't help but feel a twisting in your gut. You were not expecting this, and you don't like being surprised.

"It's just that – well, I – we were apart, and then there was Nate, and then I came back and things were a bit…tense."

"I know," because you know all this. You were there; you lived through it, too. The feeling of heart break when you realized that she was actually happy with Nate and his daughter Adelaide, that you had seemingly lost your chance, that you hadn't been the one to know her better than anyone else after all, it had nearly broken you. So you'd thrown yourself into work, into saving the world, one crazy artifact after another.

"I wanted us to have some time to ourselves, to get away from it all."

"Alright."

"And I wanted you to know, in no uncertain terms, the I love you, Myka. Most ardently. And that it terrifies me."

"Why?" you let out a short, harsh laugh.

"Why?" She leans back, as though not having understood the question.

"Why does it terrify you? Is loving me such a horrible thing?"

"No! Oh, God, no, Myka! You misunderstand me." She reaches out, taking your hand in her own. The stars are beginning to come out; you can see them reflected in the lake's clear surface. "After Christina," she barely pauses at the name now, "my only thoughts for the future were for vengeance. Afterwards, when I realized that even vengeance would not bring her back, even my best efforts at causing pain to the men who took her from me would not cause the pain to ease, I stopped imagining the future. I asked to be bronzed because I hoped, however slimly, that there might exist a future to look forward to, even if I could no longer see it in my mind's eye. But I did not expect to ever find a place again, a home, people I cared for deeply."

You are holding your breath, waiting, for what you aren't sure.

"And it took a long time, and I was impatient. I nearly destroyed the world I'd been released into because of my own inability to see past my grief, my anger." You feel her smile at you. "And even afterwards, after you stopped me and saved the world, I couldn't see past my own foolish emotions. Until I went into hiding, and I was no longer able to contact the people I'd come to regard, even unconsciously as family, until I spent time here alone, and realized that I'd much rather be watching the stars rise with someone else. Even then, though I was afraid-"

"Afraid of what?"

She ignores your interruption. "And so I convinced myself that if I could only adopt a "normal" life, one with a normal occupation, a boyfriend, a child, a house in the suburbs. If I could just manage to _forget _about bronzers and Janus coins and cabins by the lake, then I could somehow forget hurt, loneliness, and adopt, instead the calm acceptance I'd so far been unable to attaint. Except there was the artifact and working that case with you and Agent Lattimer, well, it quite reminded me that I was anything but normal."

You cannot help the indelicate snort that leaves your lips.

"Except I had seen what the Warehouse could do, the power it had over the lives of the humans who served it, and I swore to be cautious, to hold myself aloof. But, I could not get the image of this place out of my mind, and eventually I realized that I needed to visit, at least once more, and after that, I quickly realized that I would be asking you to join me. Because, Myka, I love you."

"I still don't understand."

"This place, this lake and these trees have existed for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years," she gestures to the stillness surrounding you. "They have seen people come and go, they have withstood winters and come back to life over many spring times, and yet, still, it is a peaceful place, a safe place."

"Helena-"

"I am afraid to love you, Myka, because I am afraid to lose you. So afraid in fact that for the past several years my fear of losing you as once I lost someone else whom I held dear has held me paralyzed and incapable of taking action, a role a I loathe to play. And I need you to realize that I am sorry – extremely sorry – for being unable to tell you until now, wholeheartedly, honestly how much I love you. And how terrified I am every moment of every day."

It's as though a light switch has been flicked on in your brain, and you cannot decide whether to laugh or to cry. She is the most confusing person you have ever met. The most difficult to decipher or understand, the most frustrating woman you have ever known. And you want to shake her, to hug her, to hold her close and never let her go. But you settle for leaning forward and pressing a light kiss to her cold cheek. "Are you saying you want to spend forever with me, Helena Wells?"

"I'm saying forever is never as long as we want it to be," she clarified in a whisper.

You want to disagree, sitting her on this lonely dock with her, in a bowl of water and sky, a million stars spread out above you, a million stars spread out below you. You want to tell her that forever is however long you make it, but you know that she's correct: there is never as much time as you desire. But there is _this _time, this time that you are living in right now, and that is forever enough for you. "I love you," you tell her, promise her. "It's alright to be afraid."

"Myka –"

"But, I'm saying I want to spend forever with you, Helena, no matter how long that forever might be. So, I love you. Do you love me?"

She nods. "Yes." Louder, "Yes."

You'll go back to the Warehouse tomorrow morning, and things will go back to being difficult and stressful and tiring. You'll wish for quiet mornings and peaceful evenings, for fresh thimbleberries and the lightness that can only be found while floating in the clear water of a hidden lake. But you'll still have her, and you'll still have your forever, no matter how long it ends up lasting. She can be maddening, too intelligent for her own good, fierce, and dangerous, overprotective, rash, headstrong. And at times, you wonder how she can be so completely unaware even after having lived more than a century. But you love her, and she loves you. So you kiss the hand clasped in your own and lean your head against her shoulder to watch the stars spin across the sky, knowing that whether lying beneath the black backdrop of a thousand constellations or staying awake all night, red-eyed and exhausted, working on a case, she loves you. Whether in the many aisles of the Warehouse, or beneath the ancient branches of trees that have seen centuries come and go, she loves you. Whether terrified or overjoyed, but always courageous, always strong, she loves you. And that is more than enough; it is everything.


End file.
